She stood naked, her fingertip extending to tap the writhing mass of black parasites on Gensheng’s back.

  Under her touch, the Horsehair Worms—once unyielding—snapped and withered into brittle dust as if they had met their natural nemesis.

  “You are an interesting one, for a cockroach,” she said.

  Gensheng hesitated, then attempted to pulse his thoughts toward her. “Are you... one of my kind?”

  “My name is Yinhuo Die (Shadowfire Butterfly). Since it was not easy for you to awaken your sentience, I shall give you some counsel.” Her voice was cold. “This Maple Red Valley is no sanctuary.”

  Gensheng was puzzled. This valley was the site of his rebirth, the place where he had found wisdom and started his path. How could it not be a good place?

  He struggled to push his next query: “How... can I become human?”

  Upon receiving this thought, Yinhuo Die seemed to let out a phantom laugh. “Why would you wish to be human?”

  She turned, her frigid gaze finally meeting Gensheng’s eyes for the first time. “The human frame is frail, shackled by seven emotions and six desires. On the Path of Cultivation, it is nothing but a shackle. For our kind, the insectoid form is the true vessel closest to the Great Dao.”

  “But,” she continued, “it is not impossible if you crave that shape. Common demons, beasts, and spirits must endure the Heavenly Tribulations and form a Nascent Soul before the Dao recognizes them and allows them to reshape their bodies.”

  “And you?” Gensheng asked. “You are not at the Nascent Soul stage.”

  “Of course I am not. I can take this form because of my family’s secret art: The Hundred Solutions of Celestial Insects.”

  “This method allows the insect body to undergo a metamorphosis at every major realm, sloughing off the old shell to find rebirth. No need for tribulations. No need to worship the Heavens. My Dao lies in Self-Solution and Self-Transformation.”

  Gensheng was shaken to his core. No worship of the Heavens. No tribulations. Self-liberation. What an arrogant, overbearing law.

  “Your roots are poor,” she remarked, “but your fate-thread is unnaturally stubborn. To reach the first level of Qi Condensation on your own... you are one in ten thousand. I have saved your life. How will you repay me?”

  Gensheng’s spirit shivered. “I will do anything.”

  For the weak, demonstrating enough value to the strong was the only law of survival.

  “Good.” Yinhuo Die held out her index finger. A bead of crimson blood slowly coalesced at the tip. “This blood contains a body-tempering mantra from the Hundred Solutions. If you can refine it, your carapace shall evolve once more.”

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  A supreme opportunity.

  “Swallow it.” She flicked her finger. The blood bead shot like a red streak into Gensheng’s mouthparts.

  “What must I do?”

  Yinhuo Die stood up from the heap of shattered flesh and walked to a water vat in the corner. She scooped up a handful of water, splashing it over her body to wash away the remaining debris of her old self.

  “You only need to do what a cockroach does best.”

  “Eat every last cultivator in this Maple Red Valley.”

  “Other than that, I require nothing. The Qi here is murky, and the cultivators are weak—they are the perfect fodder for you. Once you have scoured this valley and refined my essence blood, only then will your true Dao begin.”

  Over the next month, the hunt began.

  Gensheng turned his gaze back to the Laborer Courtyard. It remained the finest hunting ground.

  A lone laborer was washing clothes by the stream, grumbling about his withheld wages. A black shadow erupted from the mud beneath the water. Before the youth could even gasp, he slumped over, his body withering at a visible rate.

  Gensheng dragged the corpse into the dense forest to feast. He discovered that by consuming a cultivator’s flesh, he gained more than just spiritual energy—he inherited fragments of their memories.

  Spells. Common knowledge. Social hierarchies. To him, these were more precious than raw power.

  From one corpse, he retrieved a grey, dusty cloth sack. Following the memory fragments, he surged his meager Qi into it. The mouth of the bag flickered, revealing a small pocket of space within.

  A few dry rations. Some spare clothes. And three Low-grade Spirit Stones.

  A Storage Bag. His first magical tool.

  One by one, the laborers vanished. At first, no one cared—laborers ran away or died in ditches all the time. But once the number exceeded ten, panic began to spread. Supervisors increased patrols, and Outer Disciples were dispatched to investigate.

  Gensheng became even more cautious. Utilizing his familiarity with the terrain and his superior senses, he sowed chaos. He would spook the spirit hogs in the eastern pens at midnight, and while the patrols rushed there, he would slip into the western dorms to snatch a sleeping victim.

  Five months later.

  The disappearances finally drew the full attention of the Outer Sect. The investigation intensified.

  Gensheng went into dormancy. He hid in a dark, damp subterranean cave, refusing to emerge. The spiritual energy in his body had reached a breaking point. The drop of essence blood from Yinhuo Die sat in his gut like a miniature sun, scorching his internal organs.

  It was time.

  Agony tore through him. He could feel his body collapsing from the inside out, then reassembling. The hard plate on his abdomen softened and grew searing hot. The second, third, fourth, and fifth segments followed suit. They dissolved and fused.

  When the change settled, the five distinct segments had merged into five larger, thicker plates shimmering with a dull, metallic luster.

  Fifth Level of Qi Condensation?

  But it wasn't over. The most violent change occurred in his six legs. The sound of cracking bone echoed through the cave as his chitinous exoskeleton was forced open by a brute force from within. Raw, red flesh squirmed out, lengthening and differentiating at a visible speed.

  One... two... three... five fingers sprouted from the meat. The nails were black, the knuckles well-defined.

  The process lasted all night. When the first light of dawn touched the cave mouth, Chen Gensheng slowly lifted his foot.

  It was no longer an insect's limb. It was a hand—human in shape, though complete with a grotesque, leathery texture.

  He had six of them. Two in the front, four behind.

  He tried to crawl on the ground using his six hands, leaving behind a trail of eerie, distorted palm prints. A sensation he had never known flooded his mind. He picked up a stone. His five fingers closed around it, gripping it firmly. This sense of control over the physical world was something he had never experienced as a mere cockroach.

  Faint footsteps approached the cave. Gensheng flattened himself, his six hands pressing against the earth, merging with the shadows.

  Yinhuo Die walked in. She stared at him for a long time, her expression shifting from coldness to pure, unadulterated disgust.

  “Your foundation is utterly crooked,” she spat, her voice dripping with venom. “This repulsive, man-hating form of yours... you truly make me sick.”